The Children by Howard Fast Read Free Book Online

am a person of splendid dreams and fancies, who will be a king, or at least a millionaire some day. And who is Ollie?—”
    She says: “Of course, I have always loved you.”
    I say: “Yes, I know.”
    She says: “Won’t you kiss me, Ishky?”
    I say: “Here in the cellar?”
    She says: “It doesn’t matter—so long as you kiss me, Ishky.”
    A ND IN the middle of all that, I heard someone screaming, “Ishky—Ishky—Ishky—Gott!”
    Can it be my mother’s voice? I hear, in Yiddish, “Oh, God of Gods, what have you done with my son? Where is he, my jewel, my precious one, my beloved? What have you done with him, after the halfwit threw him from the roof? Oh, Ishky, my child, where are your?”
    â€œQuiet—quiet, and we will find him.”
    â€œTo solace me with his broken body. God!”
    â€œMaybe he is not dead.”
    â€œMy man will destroy me! Where is my jewel?”
    And all through this, I am hiding in the coal bin. Should I come out? But my mother will only beat me; I am quite certain that she will beat me. Then what shall I do—hide here in the coal for the rest of my life? But that’s quite out of the question.
    What then to do, when I can hear her crying, “Where are you, my heart?”
    Someone says, “Maybe it was not he who fell off the roof.”
    And someone else, “I saw the body drop, like a bundle of clothes.”
    And my mother, “No—he is dead. I know he’s dead.”
    What a little fiend I am to remain here in the coal!
    The big red-faced, red-armed, red-eyed woman saw him emerge from the cellar stairs. She was standing in the hall, sobbing, when he came sheepishly and shamefully out of the cellar. Literally, he was black; his face was black, his clothes and his arms were black. He stood at the top of the cellar steps, looking at her.
    â€œOh, my heart, my love,” she cried.
    â€œI fell offana duh roof.”
    â€œGod has preserved thee!”
    â€œGonna hit me?”
    â€œNo, no, my child.”
    She folded him into her large red arms, pressing her face against his dirty face, sobbing and shaking against him. His life now was more than the world had ever given her before, like having labor pains all over, and she sat on the steps rocking him back and forth. Had she been cruel? Then she would make up for it in one way or another.
    â€œThy face is cut …”
    â€œYeah—dat’s where I fell.”
    â€œYes, yes, I will make it better, my little one. You will see how thine mother will heal thy face.”
    New life now for her and her man. How could she have said to him, when he came from his work, that his son was dead?
    She took him upstairs, and in the little kitchen, she washed his face and hands. A piece of plaster brought the cut together, and when she could finally smile, she saw his full lips tremble into a smile, too.
    â€œYou will never go to the roof again,” she said.
    â€œNaw.” And then he added, “I’m hungry.”
    â€œGod forgive me,” she said in her rapid Yiddish, “I am starving the breath of my life. What will you have, my child?”
    â€œI dunno.”
    â€œSome eggs—some milk and cake and bread?”
    â€œAwright.”
    Still panting, she went to the stove, and Ishky sighed with relief. He had not been beaten, which only went, to show that it never paid to worry. Things came out all right, somehow. But, still, she was very hot and, uncomfortable in her love. A mother like Marie would be better, like Marie grown up, with yellow hair and blue eyes. If he only had such a mother—
    â€œEat, my pride.”
    â€œAwright.”
    â€œThe food is good to one who has come back from the dead?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYou are hungry—with all your fear?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œThen eat and eat, my little one, until there is not a shred of food left on your